


I Get Down On My Knees And I Start To Pray

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crowley Cooks, Crowley has anxiety, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Fluff, Funny, G U Y S, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Ridiculousness, i know inktober is an art thing but guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Crowley’s hands shook as he shoved them into his pockets.It was ridiculous. The whole blessed situation was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.They’d discussed this, for someone’s sake. This wasn’t even—there was no surprise here, no shock, no question about how this should, for all intents and purposes, turn out.And it wasn’t as if anything would change. They’d been—it’d been ten fucking years since Armageddon’t, and they’d been, for a lack of a better word, together ever since their trials, and now that Crowley was thinking about it, quite possibly even longer before that.All he was doing was making it official. He was simply taking that final step, no longer stalling the inevitable. This was—It was fine.He was going to propose to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was (hopefully—and bugger fucking all was Crowley hoping) going to say yes.





	I Get Down On My Knees And I Start To Pray

**Author's Note:**

> i'm doing inktober but as a writing thing (yes this is a day late i'm aWare)  
god help me  
yikes

Crowley’s hands shook as he shoved them into his pockets.

It was ridiculous. The whole blessed situation was ridiculous.  _ He  _ was ridiculous.

They’d discussed this, for someone’s sake. This wasn’t even—there was no  _ surprise _ here, no shock, no question about how this should, for all intents and purposes, turn out.

And it wasn’t as if anything would change. They’d been—it’d been ten  _ fucking _ years since Armageddon’t, and they’d been, for a lack of a better word,  _ together _ ever since their trials, and now that Crowley was thinking about it, quite possibly even longer before that.

All he was doing was making it  _ official _ . He was simply taking that final step, no longer stalling the inevitable. This was—

It was  _ fine _ .

He was going to propose to Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was ( _ hopefully _ —and  _ bugger fucking all _ was Crowley hoping) going to say yes.

He had to say yes.

It would be absurd for him to say anything  _ but _ yes.

Honestly, if Aziraphale  _ didn’t _ say yes, Crowley ought to just pack his things and saunter his sorry self back to Hell because he’d have obviously committed a fuck-up of epic proportions, and there wasn’t really a  _ point _ to any of this if that was the case.

“Crowley, dear, are you alright?”

Crowley shook his head just a tad, returning to reality. “Huh? Oh, oh, yeah. Yes. Fine. Just… great, angel,” he rambled, flashing what he hoped was a convincing smile.

His fingers toyed with the ring in his pocket.

“If you insist, darling,” Aziraphale said slowly, turning back to his lunch.

Crowley had made ramen—the good kind, with eggs and pork belly and shallots and all that, not the 35-cent garbage you got at Tesco and made in your dormitory’s coffee pot—and Aziraphale seemed to be enjoying it.

The cooking was… new. Ish. Sort of.

It depended on what someone classified as  _ new _ , really, and in the scheme of  _ 6,000 bloody years _ , five and a half years was still rather fresh.

He’d started cooking once they’d settled into the cottage. They were far enough removed from the rest of the world that going out to some restaurant was a bit of a hassle, but Crowley had taken one look at the put-out expression on Aziraphale’s face when he’d realised that  _ popping in for a quick nibble _ wasn’t really an option anymore (not without miraculous assistance, and teleportation always put the angel off his appetite) and decided that it was time for him to learn how to do more than hard boil eggs (and then swallow them whole, shell and all—it was a snake thing).

Crowley wasn’t  _ quite _ Michelin star level, not  _ yet _ , anyway, but he thought he was pretty good, and Aziraphale seemed to agree.

(And in the end, with this as with all other things, Aziraphale’s opinion was the only one Crowley  _ actually _ cared about.)

“Only, if something  _ was _ wrong, you would know you could talk to me, yes? About anything?” Aziraphale continued after a few moments of silence and soup-slurping.

“Obviously, angel.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale repeated softly.

Crowley rolled the ring between his fingers.

“Angel,” he said again, leaning against the kitchen counter in a way he prayed spoke of nonchalance and, mind the pun, a  _ devil-may-care  _ attitude.

“Yes, dearest?”

“I, uh, I’ve been thinking.”

“Do be careful, darling, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself,” Aziraphale said, his tone mild but the look in his eye mischievous.

Bastard.

“I’ve been  _ thinking _ ,” Crowley repeated with a huff that made the angel chuckle, “that, well. We’re basically—we’re a couple, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale blinked at him. “You know, I was joking,” he said. “But if that much wasn’t perfectly clear, then maybe you  _ should  _ consider—”

“Okay, alright, yes, I get it,” Crowley interrupted, rolling his eyes. “But—we are. We’re a—uh—er—well—”

“Helplessly, hopelessly, sickeningly in love?”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. He was rocking back and forth on his heels, now. “That. That, and we’ve got this place, and we go out on dates, and we’ve got Warlock a joint birthday present every year since he turned twelve, and we share a bedroom, and the other day I found your socks in my drawer, and you count me as a dependent on your taxes now, which I still think is  _ technically  _ not allowed—”

“You can’t say you don’t depend on me, dear. You don’t even have a job.”

“ _ You can’t call it a job if you never _ —nevermind. Anyway. The point—the point is, I was thinking—I thought—you know, we might as well…”

“Might as well  _ what _ , Crowley?”

Aziraphale wasn’t eating anymore. Instead, he had turned in his chair so that he was directly facing Crowley, and he seemed to be leaning forward just slightly with a small, expectant smile on his face.

“You know,” Crowley muttered, taking one hand out his pocket to gesture vaguely at the air. “Make it official.”

“Official how?” Aziraphale asked, the smile on his face growing.

Crowley glared at him. The little shit knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing, Crowley was sure of it.

“Aziraphale Ziraphale Fell—”

“Oh, don’t say it like that, at least all of mine actually stand for something, you absolute menace—”

“ _ Aziraphale Ziraphale Fell _ ,” Crowley repeated, slowly sinking down on one knee in front of his angel. He pulled the ring out of his pocket. “You are—well, you’re my everything, really. Don’t know what I’d be doing if I didn’t have you. Probably, I’d be fighting in some great, endless, bloody war or whatever. Maybe I’d be trying to convince some of Legion to lick the walls downstairs—but anyway. I love you. Have loved you for ages. Since you said you gave away that blessed sword, I think. Point is, it’s you and me, now, and I want—I want everyone to know. I want them to know you picked me. Our side. Whatever.”

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t looked Aziraphale in the eye since he’d knelt down, but he did just then. The angel’s eyes were oddly shiny. “Basically,” he continued, “I want to marry you. You marry me. Us, married, whatever. Please.”

For a moment, Aziraphale was silent.

Crowley had done a lot in his 6,000+ years of life on Earth. He’d seen some truly horrific shit—the plagues (all of them), the Inquisition, Christopher Columbus, the inside of Nero’s wardrobe, concentration camps, slave ships, Donald Trump in the nude (don’t  _ fucking  _ ask). He’d faced down  _ Satan himself _ .

Those moments of silence were the worst Crowley had ever experienced.

“ _ Yes _ , yes, Crowley, my dear, I— _ of course _ , I—”

Aziraphale practically fell out of his chair in his urgency, yanking Crowley up halfway as he pressed what felt like no less than a million kisses to Crowley’s face.

Crowley’s hands shook as he slipped the ring onto his angel’s finger.

They _were_ ridiculous.

It was alright.

**Author's Note:**

> give me thoughts! opinions! see you later today (dear lord help me aaaSAHDJAK)


End file.
